Complications
by xnessuno
Summary: Apollonia is a simple girl. Simple wants and simple needs. People just can't leave it at that. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright well. I haven't really posted anything in, like, a year and my other stories I just didn't feel like picking up... I just don't know what to do with them and I got distracted with school and I totally didn't care about it anymore. But I started writing this awhile ago and I'm sick - DURING SUMMER VACATION EHEHE SO FUN GAISE - and I just wanted to post this for the hell of it. I stopped writing for my friend with her little Caterina character but I like Sicily - everyone deserves a vacation there ugh it's really pretty - so this character is still Sicilian and she basically still has the same life story thingy if you read my drabbles but yolo. And I know none of y'all actually read this little bit but I felt obligated to throw this in. ALSO the title totally has noooooothing to do with anything in the story at all, I just had that word stuck in my head for whatever reason. It's definitely subject to change. Soooo go on and read, yeah?**

* * *

Slowly, she picks her way through the market, taking great care not to bring much attention to herself. The guards here are harsh: even a young girl like her is suspicious, no matter if she's browsing at a distance or talking politely to the stall keeper. At all times, she can feel someone's eyes on her, and she's never sure if it's a customer or one of the guards. Bastards.

A woman with a basket stuffed full with anything and everything is bustling right towards her. She smiles, noticing how easily she could snatch at the half-filled coin purse sitting atop rolls and rolls of brightly colored cloth, most likely a new shipment. She calculates her steps, the time allotted before she's about to act. Three, two, one.

"Ay, mi dispiace!" she apologizes to the woman, dropping to her knees, who smiles at her sweetly. Kindly. She would feel guilty later. But not now. Coin is coin. "I am so, so sorry! I wasn't looking, I was... Ay, I'm sorry!"

"It's quite alright, cara," the woman says softly, kneeling down to collect more of the cloth herself. "I completely understand." Now, now. She pretends to place it in the basket as the woman turns to her left, completely blind to her next move. She shoves it into her sleeve, drops it into the pocket of her heavy skirts. The jingling would be muted against the heavy wool.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she says, inhaling deeply the scent of the sea around them. Beautiful Napoli. Doesn't come close to her real home, not close to Sicily. "Enjoy the rest of it!" The woman nods stupidly, charmed by this suave little girl. Fourteen years old and she's snatched all of those florins away. She feels the heavy purse hitting her knee, softly jingling as she walks. This could get her by for the next three months.

For hours and hours, she carries on uninterrupted, weaving her way expertly through the marketplace. She's snatched the smallest of things; a small porcelain saucer, one that would perfectly match a Vittoria Scaglione's fragile little teacup for a few coins; bread to keep her stomach full as she walked and gawked at the dress shop; a long roll of thick rope for Franco, one of the grimy thief boys that will occasionally offer her shelter when she's desperate enough to accept it; a box of sweet cakes left foolishly on a ledge by a young girl distracted by her even younger brothers, three of which she ate for herself and the other three she planned on saving for some of the orphan children she often sees wandering around the gutters. Today has proven to be a productive day.

She licks and sucks sweet lemon off of her fingers, strolling into the open street. From here, she can see the ocean, brilliantly blue. Boats are docked in the harbor, fishermen still lounging about on the docks after a long day's work. Thieves that she easily recognizes, Franco's friends, dash about on the rooftops, completely in view of the guards who do nothing about them. And just yards away is what she fears most: the woman she snatched the coins from angrily snapping at a gangly pair of teenage boys, meant to be the guards, the security of the market. The woman points an angry finger at her, screeching something loud enough for most people to hear, something that falls on deaf ears.

All she can do is run. She disappears into throngs of people, sliding down a sandy hill. Ignoring the roughness of the sand now caught in her skirts, she dashes for a cove Franco brought her to, one close enough to the shore to walk to, but hidden from view unless you stand on the opposite end of the shore. They'll have lost her by then. She'll be in the clear.

"Sandro!" one of the boys is shouting from behind her, and she knows he's close. Goddamn, she shouldn't have gone for a dead end. Goddamn it all. "Sandro, get her!"

She comes to a stop. No point in struggling anymore. Who she thinks to be Sandro turns around, lunges at her, then straightens himself out when he realizes she's giving herself up willingly. The boy from behind her grips hard at her shoulders as if she's going to try to escape, kick at his groin and spit in Sandro's face. "Just take me," she mumbles. "I don't care anymore."

"I TOLD you, I BOUGHT those," she hisses through her teeth, pointing at the rope, the saucer, and the box of sweet cakes sitting on the table outside, just out of her reach. The bars of her little cell press painfully against her arms and chest, and she leans her forehead against them in exasperation. "I stole her coins, but believe me, I bought that."

"It's funny," one of the boys says, tapping his finger against the cord of rope. "Sailor reported this stolen earlier. Said he left it on a table, and when he came back - poof! Gone."

"Blacksmith had an extra, completely useless roll!" she shouts, her voice echoing around the small room. "He sold it for me for so little even I couldn't believe it."

"Even if you DID buy it," Sandro begins, "how would we know it was your money?"

She pats her side firmly, at the filled coin purse sewed into the side of her dress. "I keep my money close at hand. And trust me - THIS is mine. What little I've been able to keep."

"Mmm," Sandro nods. "Alright, I'll believe that's yours. Can't prove otherwise. The exact amount Signora Russo said was in her purse is still in the purse. Your money is your money. But, she may be asking for repayment."

"I repaid her! She received her goddamn money! I gave it back!"

"Yes, but the wealthy are never satisfied."

The other boy - Piero, she remembers now - sighs loudly. "Stop, Sandro. We have more things to worry about. Like her NAME."

She clenches her jaw, her fingers tightening around the bar. No one else sits on the crude wooden benches behind her. It's just her and them in this tiny little room, and she's wondering if they're even really guards, if they're just teenage boys playing around and falsely imprisoning her just for fun, just to ruin her day.

"What's your name?" Sandro asks, coming close to the bars. "Hm, cara?"

If it were any other day, she would have found him attractive. Deep green eyes identical to hers are flecked with little hazel spots, but they're much brighter in comparison to olive skin. Dark hair falls just past his ears, and he's built wide, strong. His shoulders are broad and his arms are muscular and he can't be any older than seventeen. She would have swooned at the sight of him. But it isn't any other day, and as of now, she's fighting the urge to punch him in the face. "Put down anything you want," she says sweetly, cocking her head to the left and smiling. "You can put me down as goddamned Lucrezia Borgia. I don't care. You don't care. I'm in here for the night and I'm out in the morning, no? Isn't that what you told me?"

"I can change that any time, principessa." Sandro grips her wrists hard through the bars. "I can make this worse than before."

"What will you do? Have me hung? Ship me to America?"

Sandro's jaw clenches. He has nothing to say to her anymore. One hand travels up to her face, taking her chin in his hands. He tilts her face to the left, then to the right, and his opposite hand slides from her wrist to grip her low on her back. "She isn't bad looking, Piero," he calls to the boy behind him, who meekly opens his mouth and shuts it. It's clear who's in charge. In a lower voice, he says to her, "You know, if Signora Russo isn't asking for any repayment, you could always do something for me."

Hands squeeze her behind and she's had it. She spits right in his face, her breathing coming in hard gasps as he gapes and wipes it out of his eyes. She backs away from the bars as he charges at them, yelling obscenities at her like she hit him, like she completely emasculated him. Settling herself on one of the sagging benches, she steadies her wobbling knees. It's been so long since someone's been mad at her like that. Since anyone at all has attempted to discipline her. Screaming erupts outside that she recognizes as Signora Russo. "Where is that grimy little gutter whore?"

"Right in here," Sandro answers gruffly. "Would you like to see her?"

"Unlock the door, idiota! I want to see the stupid girl that thought she could do this to me."

Within a few minutes, the woman is in front of her, seething and red in the face. Still so angry. And yet she's completely indifferent, ignoring Signora Russo's bug eyes. "What made you think you could get away with this?"

"I've gotten away with it before," she answers quietly. "You were stupid enough to leave your coins in the open. Ripe for picking."

"Because I trust others enough to leave me as I am! To let me shop in peace! Is no one of a good heart any longer? Where have the good Christians gone? You'll burn in hell, you dirty little stealing rat," Signora Russo screeches at her. "You will BURN in hell."

"Good Christians?" she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You come in here yelling bloody murder! Your money has been repaid. You should be relieved, you should be grateful, you should be SATISFIED! And yet you're here screaming in the face of a teenage girl, asking for revenge. Good Christians FORGIVE, idiota. They don't want MORE."

"I. Deserve. More."

Anger wells inside of her. How ignorant are people? "Would you like to know what I would have DONE with the money?" she says. The Signora nods. "Well, I would keep a bit for myself. Just a bit, for a cheap dress if my others are too torn and worn, or at a rundown inn if it's raining. The rest I would split amongst little orphan children, the other dirty gutter thieves that need money. To live. We're children without parents that need to survive."

Signora Russo doesn't skip a beat. There is no pity in her eyes, no guilt, no shame. It's as if she didn't hear a single word. "Your circumstances are unfortunate, my dear, and I apologize. I am truly sorry. But you don't need to include me in your sick little plans. And I request repayment." Long fingers wrap around the necklace that has hung around her neck since she was eight, since she pried it off of her Father's bloody chest. Pure silver. "I want this."

She smiles calmly. "Family heirloom. I'm afraid you can't have it."

"Well, I'll take it anyway." The clasp is undone as Signora Russo yanks it off, holding it up in the meager light to examine it. Rage swells up inside of the thief girl sitting on the now quaking bench, and she realizes it's because of her fingers wrapped right around the edge, gripping so hard her knuckles have turned white.

"I'll do what you want. I'll clean your home, I'll help you with whatever, I'll teach your children how to swim - I will repay you in favors, but Jesus Christ, let me keep my necklace."

Signora Russo shrugs, smiling down at her. "I would rather something of value."

"It's all I have of my parents," she says, and she can feel her throat tightening, burning. It becomes more difficult to swallow and her eyes begin to burn, as well as her cheeks, her ears, her neck. She is not looking forward to shedding tears, especially not here and now. "Please, Signora, I'm begging you."

Yet the indifference remains. This ignorant woman shrugs, wrapping the cord around her neck. The charm catches the light, the strange triangular charm, some kind of symbol of something incredibly important to her father. A symbol she's seen all over but can't quite place. "It's quite nice, I think. Not exactly a diamond or pearls, but -"

Coins slap against the desk outside. Signora Russo turns around abruptly, and Sandro and Piero look the slightest bit intimidated by whoever just entered the room. She can see the shadow of a man cast long across the dirt floor, the hum of a deep, quiet voice. Sandro nods respectfully, rising to his feet to come stand by the cell door. "Come," he says softly to her, waving her over. "She's leaving, Signora Russo."

"I've gotten what I wanted," is the woman's smug answer. "But I'd like to see the poor soul bailing out this dreadful child."

She bites her tongue hard, stepping nervously out of the cell. Two things are on her mind: one, and most importantly, she needs to get her necklace back. Two, whoever it is bailing her out must have been sent by Franco. How long would it take her to repay him? But she has no idea who this fine-dressed man is. He's tall, and breaking into his forties, a handful of wrinkles lining his face. He smiles warmly at her the moment he sees her, but his eyes grow flat as he catches sight of the necklace around Signora Russo's neck.

"I believe that is hers," he says simply, pointing at her. "I will pay you whatever you ask, as long as it is rightfully returned to her."

"I don't think you understand, Messere," Signora Russo begins flirtatiously. "She -"

"I understand damn well, believe it or not. Now I would like you to return that to her immediately, and you will be compensated. I shan't have it any other way. I'll keep you here all night if that's what it takes for its return."

Signora Russo unclamps the necklace, tossing it haphazardly at her. "You know what - I don't care. Take it. None of you are worth my time or energy. Goodnight, Sandro, Piero, and you, rude sir. Wait until my husband hears about this."

"I know Stefano very well," the man replies, to Signora Russo's dismay. "You two have a nice supper."

The thief girl gawks at this strange man, standing tall and grinning at her, as if he knows her. And she can almost swear she knows him. From somewhere, her muddled memory, she places his face and his voice, but she can't remember when she met him, if she did at all, if this isn't her optimism messing with her head.

"Come along," he says, waving her towards the door. She stays where she is, her feet planted to the ground. "Ah, mi dispiace. We haven't had proper introductions. I am Giovanni Auditore. I was once friends with your family." And he smiles again, this time with some meaning. She still has no idea who he is. But he's her way out.

Willingly, she walks ahead of him, up the stairs and out the door. They're across the street from a line of small shops - a bakery, a small eatery, a tailor's shop, and a very, very small bank. He's right behind her, his footsteps falling heavily.

"Grazie, Signore Auditore," she finally says after a long moment of silence. They're so close to where she saw Piero and the other boy listening to Signora Russo's whining, and the ocean to her right is black, the moon hovering just above it.

He smiles down at her. "Believe me, it was no trouble."

"I should be heading home soon. Far too late for me to be out." She returns his smile, though she's sure hers doesn't look as genuine as his.

"And where is this home of yours?"

"A neighborhood you'd rather not travel into."

"Ah, but I would. If it's no place I should be, then it's definitely no place you should be."

"I've made my home there. I've made my fair share of acquaintances. I belong there, believe me. So thank you for this kind favor. I'm very grateful. But I have to go home, Signore."

She's speeding up her step, planning on darting into the next large group of people, just a few hundred yards away, all of them surrounding a fire eater in awe. He's just reminding them of the festivities of Carnivale, looming ahead. Only a few weeks away. Such an easy few days of thievery, the time she and Franco rake in the most they ever can the entire year.

"Stop trying to run from me, Apollonia." She stops short. Unless necessary, she never says her name. And even then it rarely is her name - she'll try Sandra, Flora, Simonetta, Giuliana. Any name in the book. Only the close few know her real name.

"How do you know my name?" she mumbles, and she inexplicably feels the need to cry. Her brows are drawing together and her lip trembles violently, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Maybe it's because he sounded so much like her father.

No, he sounded just like her father.

"We met once. You were only a child. I was friends with your father; we were business associates. I saw you being taken, and I made it my business to check into all of the so-called prisons in Napoli." His explanation is so calm and clear and she knows it's true. In fact, she's remembering him now, how she peeked in on him and her father drinking late into the night in his study. Apollonia remembers him clearly.

"You know what happened to him, then?" she says, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "What happened to all of them?"

He nods stiffly. "Si. And I'm sorry."

The rest of his words drown out. Snippets of what did happen to her family flash in her mind: her sister Ariana draped over the sofa, blood and guts all over. Her oldest brother Vito thrown over the stairs, his neck broken at an odd angle, blood dripping from his mouth. Her mother raped and stabbed, but she didn't die for hours. She was still bleeding, painfully slow on the dining room floor, and Apollonia sat beside her and cried and cried and cried until she closed her eyes and her chest stopped weakly rising and falling.

Vincenzo and Alessandra are out there somewhere. But now, she wonders if she'd like to know where they are. If things would be the same.

"Did you hear me, Apollonia?" he says, and her attention is brought back to him. "I'll help you. I'll bring you back to Firenze. I can give you a good life. Repayment for something your father did a long, long time ago for me. It's the least I can do. Please, please let me."

She sizes him up through bleary eyes. She's fully aware this is the best offer of her lifetime, the only time she'll come close to living comfortably again. Giovanni, a friend of her father's, in his silken clothes, his soothing voice, offering her something she would, could, SHOULD accept. The fact she even has to think about it...

"I know, I know this is all odd. I know it may seem like I'm lying. But I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon, and -"

"Si," she nods, wiping at her running nose. "What better option is there?"

"You'll come?"

Apollonia smiles weakly. "A friend of my father's is a friend of mine, Signore."

* * *

**I WANTED THAT RUSSO LADY TO BE A HUGE BITCH CUNT SLAG OK. I was really pissed off when I was writing this and yeah. The drama was completely necessary. And if shit doesn't add up I'm sorry, I just didn't wanna edit anything because I'm a half-ass writer and beta readers are intimidating all around. But it's a whole Sicilian soap opera up in here ma friends.**


	2. Chapter 2

**so this is the second chapter holler. It's nothing special but there's some PLAWT TWIZTS up in here and you know. Apollonia has some awkward bath time too.**

* * *

Apollonia eyes Annetta through the cloudy steam settled around them, one arm clamped firmly around her chest, the other moving slowly through the water. It thickens with oils and bubbles deposited by the Auditore family's maid, who brings out a whole assortment of sponges and loofahs, all of them at the Sicilian girl's disposal. Soon enough, she knows she'll be cringing at the heated bath water she sits in, at the dirt clouding and swirling all around. She's fully aware of how filthy she's become, and it's been awhile since her last real wash. Swimming doesn't count, not by a long shot. Smelling of salt and untangling her matted curls is NOT a wash, no matter how much Franco thought it to be.

"If you need anything, just call me," Annetta says. "But not loudly. The rest of the family is asleep, I'm afraid, and things echo in this house."

Apollonia smiles and nods. She's completely forgotten that it's nighttime, due to the number of people still wandering around outside. Some of them she easily recognizes as planners, working when no one is around to bother them, dealing with Carnivale weeks in advance. When Annetta leaves her alone in this small, ground floor room, she sighs in relief, sinking into the water. Her hair thickens in the water, moving about on its own for awhile, and she stays under until she can't take it anymore, resurfacing and keeping her gasps as quiet as she can manage.

Outside, she can hear soft chattering. Giovanni and his wife, Maria, no doubt. Him explaining what he did, all her questions and all his answers. She closes her eyes, wondering if Maria would have a real problem with her being here. This dirty, swearing girl that really has no place with this family.

Pawing around on the small table beside the tub, her fingers knock at the handle of a hairbrush. She picks it up, and begins to work it through the tangles in her hair until it's smooth and silky, her fingers moving through it. Within a few minutes, she's sitting up in the tub, the water sloshing up against the edges. She leans over the edge, reaching for a towel, clambering awkwardly outside onto the floor.

In the small, misty mirror, she sees her blurry reflection. It's an odd reminder of how young she actually is, when she doesn't feel that young at all. She dressed herself quickly in the nightdress and things provided to her. It's cleaned and fresh and just her size, barely falling to the floor, made out of wool spun so finely it's practically silk. Apollonia wrings her curls out with the towel until they're almost dry, dripping at the ends. Straightening out the sleeves of her nightdress can only entertain her for so long. She needs to go outside but she doesn't want to see Giovanni and Maria. Perhaps she should have just stayed.

Apollonia takes a deep breath, opening the door to peek outside. She's met with near darkness in an empty hallway, an orange tabby cat trotting by and meowing noisily at her. It wriggles its way through the crack in the door, rubbing against her legs, still meowing much too loud. She leans down, scratches its ears, trying to silence it. "Shoo," she whispers to it, smacking its behind. "Go on!"

Green eyes look at green eyes. This stupid Tom isn't going anywhere.

Too timid to say anything, she peeks out the door again. Except this time, there's a boy at the end of the hall. Apollonia flinches away from the door, reaching over to snuff out all of the candles Annetta left lit for her. The boy's footsteps echo down the hall, and she hears him whispering a name.

"Santino," he hisses, slapping at the floor. "Your milk, dammit." The cat goes trotting out the door, and Apollonia backs up towards the tub. The boy's shadow is cast across the floor, climbing up the wall, and she can hear Santino's loud purring, the laps of his tongue against the milk. When will this damn boy just LEAVE. "Smoke...?" he mutters, and he pokes his head through the doorway.

Instinctively, she throws her towel at his head. He barely dodges it, the heavy cloth hitting the wall, and she covers her mouth before she can scream. As he looks back in, Apollonia smiles apologetically, clutching at the fabric of her nightgown.

"So, you're this girl my parents are discussing?" he says.

She nods stiffly. He doesn't look like he could be their child; he looks more like a man than anything. He's a good head taller than her, his chest and shoulders all broad, his face in need of a shave. He grins at her, waving her along. "Come, then. They'll think you escaped."

Apollonia follows him out the door. She kneels to pluck up her towel on the way out, trotting a bit to keep up with him, walking by a satisfied Santino rolling happily on his back. "You're their son," she says simply.

"I am."

"How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen come October."

Her brow raises. "It's April."

He looks back at her. "And?"

"And it should be much simpler to say you're seventeen. October is six months away."

He shrugs again. "Eighteen sounds better."

They pass by Annetta cleaning things up in the darkened kitchen. Everything in the house, for the most part, is dark. Only two lanterns sit lit in the dining room, the enormous foyer has three, but the large sitting room she knows Giovanni and Maria are in is completely lit up. From the fire burning in the hearth to the lanterns hung up around the room. The whole space is illuminated and it irritates her eyes to some extent. Apollonia stiffens as Maria and Giovanni both look at her. It's been a long, long time since she really honestly felt shy, timid, intimidated. And it's odd that it's Maria who has that effect on her, with her soft eyes and her small stature. It's almost comical seeing her next to Giovanni and their son, both of them towering over her. She'll use this little detail to relax her.

"Federico," Giovanni says lowly to his son. He leaves the room, closing the doors behind him. Just Apollonia, Giovanni, Maria. She takes a shuddering breath.

"Now is the only time we can really speak," Maria explains to her. "I would prefer to let you sleep, but we would never get this out of the way if that was to happen. I apologize in advance."

Giovanni picks up before Apollonia can nod in understanding. "It's not only the timing. There are things we must discuss before you're entirely sure you'd want to stay."

She nods. "Alright."

Giovanni and Maria share a look that Apollonia has never understood. It isn't specific to them, clearly; she's just barely met the both of them. But it's a seriousness that only adults share, this heavy carefulness she hopes she never has to feel. It's a tiredness she can see in their eyes. And it unsettles her.

"We'll work our way up, then, si?" Maria smiles brightly. She thinks Apollonia's as ignorant as a girl of their class, that she isn't observant. That doesn't sit well with her. "For one, we know... where your siblings are."

Apollonia's breath hitches. Her nose flares. She takes one look at Giovanni to ensure this isn't a joke, a mishearing on his wife's behalf that resulted in her disappointment. "Wh-where are they?"

"Vincenzo ventures outside the city. As of now he's somewhere out in Toscana. This is a routine thing, his leaving. It's business related," Giovanni says.

"Only a few days at a time. Alessandra keeps their flat in check. She does a multitude of things to make extra money; all of which I'm not entirely sure of, but I know at the beginning she stopped to... unusual occupations. Girolamo - "

"Girolamo's dead," Apollonia interrupts sharply. "I saw him. I saw him." "He wasn't. His ribs broke. His arm was fractured. He was bleeding from the mouth because he bit his tongue too hard falling down the stairs. But he lived," Giovanni continues calmly. "He does the same as Vincenzo, venturing outside of the city, but he stays out for longer. A few weeks at a time he'll be gone, a few weeks at a time he'll be in Firenze. He, however, lives in a separate house."

"Why?"

"He's married," Maria says. "A small son. He's twenty-three, isn't he?" she asks, looking to her husband for confirmation. He nods. "Yes, twenty-three. He leads a somewhat separate life from your siblings, but of course, they remain in contact. And they looked for you for awhile. But they figured you had resorted to the life you chose. A street child is better than an orphan. The south was more familiar to you. And they rarely made any trips to the south, so they just hoped you'd make your way to the north."

Giovanni nods. "Which you did, I suppose." He scratches his chin, undoes the buttons of his sleeves, the front of his shirt. "Or I brought you here. Tomorrow, we would like to take you to see them. One of us will, maybe even my son. But we'll take you."

Apollonia clenches and unclenches her fists. The last memories she has of her siblings are dim. They're all a few years older than her, and things would be odd. The only things she remembers about them is the color of their eyes, hair, skin. Girolamo chasing after girls, Vincenzo staying inside with her when she was sick, Alessandra angrily making dinner for their brothers when the maid was out with their mother for too long. They're different people now. She isn't sure if she wants that.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she mumbles, rising from the sofa. Her nose and lips tremble and twitch but she isn't sure if she's really going to cry, not yet.

"Your room will be there," Maria says, pointing to a set of doors shadowed by the stairs, at the one directly in the middle. She smiles gratefully, or manages what she thinks is a smile, and walks stiffly to the bedroom. Inside, it's all dimly lit by the moon, her bed freshly made up, clothes set out for the day tomorrow. Fine clothes. Clothes Alessandra paraded around when she bought them. Apollonia settles herself on the bed, leaning her head against a soft pillow. She sleeps before she can cry.

* * *

Federico is a lazy walker. Last night, he was all speed and hurriedness, and today, he lazes by, his hands in his pockets. Maybe it's the sun, or the awkward silences they share, but that's mainly his fault. He's king of mumbling, and Apollonia is too quiet today to ask him to repeat what he said. She can see annoyance flicker on his brow when she just smiles, doesn't respond, but the damn boy should speak louder.

It's only the midmorning. Bells toll to mark the hour - nine o'clock - and she can already feel herself beginning to sweat. It must be a heat wave, because she wasn't expecting the north to be very... hot. She doesn't fan herself discreetly at all: she plucks at the fabric of her dress lest it cling to her skin with sweat, suddenly wishing for thin boy's clothes, the ones she kept hidden just for this. She used to be able to pull it off, too, before she started changing, that is.

"Is it usually so - "

"Always," he answers before she can finish. "We have no real wind here."

Apollonia rolls up her sleeves, becoming more and more itchy to her. Her hair eventually goes up with a ribbon tied around her wrist. And all the while, she doesn't stop sweating, fanning herself while glaring at the fair men and women they walk by.

Fair... Her brows draw together and she begins to observe them. Blonde hair, blue eyes, creamy skin. They're northern Europeans, no doubt. Never before has she felt so DARK. "What are they?" she mumbles, moving closer to Federico in case they hear. She nods at a horde of young girls, a bit older than her, their corsets so tight. He doesn't hesitate to size them up. She has to elbow him to get his attention again. "Hey! What are they? Are they French?"

"Austrian. French. Mixture," he says quietly. "They are EVERYWHERE." "When did they get here?"

"Been here for years. Shouldn't matter to you. Shouldn't matter to me, either." He shrugs, as they walk around a couple that makes no attempt to let them through. "They're here just because they are. They'll leave soon enough."

She sighs, resorting to wringing her wrists from nervousness instead of paying attention to the fair Europeans walking around her. Federico is all relaxation, his hands folded behind his head as he winks at specific girls, flashing a boyish smile at some. As of now, she hates him. She wishes she could be as carefree as him.

He slows down by a small street between rows of houses. Apollonia swallows, letting him take her by the arm to steer her in the right direction. "Should we do this so early?" she squeaks, eyeing each house as they pass by, expecting her entire family to come pouring out.

"What, come to see them?"

She nods. "I don't think..."

"No," Federico says. "My mother tried the same point. My father said it's better this way. You'll be more raw. You'll make your decision with time."

She takes deep breaths and nods. Giovanni's logic is horseshit to her, but she can't say anything, not now. They're too close at this point and she doesn't want to have to make a boy like Federico turn around after coming all this way.

He turns to a little, one-floor house in the middle of the lane. The cobblestones underneath her feet feel like they're loose until she realizes her legs are trembling, that she can barely keep herself up as Federico raises a fist to knock loudly on a door that immediately opens. She's standing off a ways, so she can't see inside. Just a hand, a wrist, an arm keeping the door halfway open. A girl. Alessandra. And Alessandra can't see her.

"Where is she?" comes a voice she recognizes. It's rougher, older, but it's her.

"Shy. Hiding," Federico answers, pointing at Apollonia leaning against the corner of the house. He smiles at her, waving her over. "Stop being five-years-old. This will be good for you!"

Apollonia's eyes dart between the arm still sticking from the doorway and Federico's lazy smile. He jerks his head towards the door, trying to urge her inside, his hands in her pocket, and eventually, she steps up to the low porch. She's still at an angle where she can't see anything, her throat tightening, and she tangles her fingers in her hair, clenching her jaw so tight it cramps.

"Come on," he tells her, yanking her by the arm, and he almost hurls her into her sister. Alessandra catches her by the shoulders. Federico sandwiches her in from behind, and together they practically drag her inside, the Auditore boy closing and bolting the door behind him.

Inside, it's brighter. All of the windows are open, the blinds drawn, betting covering propped open windows to keep out bugs. The room is simple: a kitchen right next to a small living area. A low table sits between two love seats and a sofa, and a handful of lamps and candles line each table. Another table, a higher one, is pushed against a wall, with five rickety chairs pushed in. The kitchen is actually well maintained, everything spic and span and clean. Darkened stairs lead up a second floor she won't be able to see as Alessandra, whose face she still hasn't even seen, leads her to sit on a loveseat.

"You're bigger," she remarks, almost sadly, as Apollonia nervously squeezes herself into the corner of the love seat. "And Fredo. So are you."

"Mm," he hums in annoyance. "A bit too late."

"I wasn't implying anything." There's laughter in her voice, and Apollonia wonders what they're even talking about. Federico must have pursued her. "But sorellina. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Apollonia shifts in her seat, deciding to sit as ladylike as she knows how, her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap, shoulders back and posture straight. No slouching. No nonsense like that. This is as bad as meeting royalty, or being on trial. "Water," she mumbles. "Just water."

She can feel Federico staring at her, as well as her sister from the kitchen, but she doesn't try to paste on a smile. Her slouch eventually comes over her and she leans against the arm of the sofa as Alessandra comes back with a glass of water, setting it on the table in front of Apollonia.

Tentatively, she leans forward, taking it in a sweaty palm and taking one large gulp and cradling it in her lap. Nobody makes conversation for awhile: Federico taps his feet against the wooden floors and Alessandra seems to be thinking of what to say to her sister. "I'm almost positive you're fourteen," the older of the two pipes up softly. "Four months till your birthday. Am I right?"

Apollonia nods weakly. "Si."

"Where did you go after all of that happened?" Alessandra says, getting straight to the point. She takes an unsteady breath, probably wondering if she should take it back and instead ask how her younger sister is, but she keeps pressing. "We went to them all. Our uncles and Mamma's cousins and even Federico's parents. We couldn't find anyone that had you. But you weren't dead. We figured you could be, later on, but at the beginning, we didn't know why you didn't try to find us. Why you didn't ask, why you didn't leave anyone with a message in case we came by looking for you. Where the hell could you have gone, Apollonia?"

Hearing her name so sternly said by a voice she hasn't heard in so long sends shivers up and down her spine. She wraps her hands around her cold glass, feeling the condensation drip into her palms, and she herself has to wonder for awhile. It would have been ideal to stick with an uncle or an aunt, or find family friends she knew would take her in in her bloody little nightgown. But she didn't go to any one of them. She took what little she knew she would need, what she could carry, in a knapsack and left the house as quickly as she could. She was too scared they would come back, that whoever killed her family would know she was alive and come to finish the job. She had to leave.

It's hard for her to trace back far, to remember what she did. People her own age, little thieves, they helped her in the beginning. But some years are too blurry for her to remember. "I stayed in Sicilia for awhile," she softly murmurs to her sister in their own dialect. "I did. I stayed in Palermo for the longest time. With thieves my own age. I'd sleep on benches, or on the beach, when the tide was low. Nobody wanted any of my things. They wouldn't bother me, they wouldn't disturb me. I went back to Taormina when I was ten, just to see if the two of you were there. But you weren't. And I made up my mind I'd go to Napoli, just because it was a bigger city... and I did the same thing there. I mostly did everything on my own. All on my own."

Apollonia still hasn't looked directly at her sister. She's focused on the hem of her dress and the tips of her boots and the bracelets lining her tanned arms, but not in the face. Her chest is too heavy and everything is too tight for her to risk that.

"Well... none of that matters anymore, anyway," Alessandra says. "You're here now. At least we know you're safe, vero?"

Apollonia gives a meek nod. "Yeah. We're fine now."

She involuntarily looks up at Alessandra. Dark brown hair is pulled into a braid their mother taught them how to do, falling barely past breasts Federico keeps subtly darting his eyes to. She's beautiful, all olive skin and green eyes, and she smiles brightly at Apollonia now that she's looking at her. The only difference is the light scar lining the side of her face. The crescent from the top of her cheekbone to the end of her jaw.

"What's that?" Apollonia queries, reaching out to just barely brush her fingers over it. "How did this even happen?"

"Oh. That night," Alessandra sighs in annoyance, as if it was just a group of drunken boys breaking into their house rather than people that slaughtered their entire family. "One of them held me down. Wanted to rape me and kill me, or something like that. He was cutting me... and Cenzo just crocked him over the head. We just left."

Apollonia's mouth hardens into a thin line as she nods. They both treat it so nonchalantly, as of it doesn't even matter anymore. For her, the nightmares have long since stopped; she has more things to do and better things to worry about. Even then, she rarely talked about it, always keeping it to herself, telling a select few, but only small details. That was far back in the past.

"Where are the rest of them?" Apollonia asks, sitting on her hands now, feeling the sofa dry up the condensation clinging to her palms. "Vincenzo and Girolamo aren't here, are they?"

"Vincenzo's out in the countryside, for his job, you know. Girolamo's with his family. Something involving his wife's family he couldn't get out of."

Apollonia's brows furrow and she makes a face as both Alessandra and Federico tense at the same exact time at the mentioning of this job. This anonymous occupation that nobody has tried to go into detail for her because they probably think she doesn't even notice when they talk about it. She wants to know.

"What is this job, anyway? Are they farmers? What makes them be out and away so much?"

Alessandra sighs, clasping her hands together. "It's not nothing. I'll tell you that, at least. It's definitely a big something, but it's nothing we need to discuss now. I wanted Giovanni to tell you. It might keep you from choosing to stay with us. And I may want it that way. It's for the best."

"For the best?" the younger repeats, almost shouting. "Why wouldn't I pick here?"

But she knows she wouldn't. Not now. Even if they're her family, and eventually, the love she's buried and ignored will come out again, there's something warmer about the way Giovanni and Maria have treated her so far. They're older and they're less threatening, less quiet. Something intimidates her about Alessandra.

"It's complicated," Federico steps in when Alessandra can't speak. They make strained eye contact but he nods, beginning to roll his sleeves up to his elbow from the heat. "It's really complicated, actually. There are a lot of aspects to it. I just barely learned about it, but it's not... it's not something you can fully grasp in one sitting. You know?"

Apollonia's jaw clenches but she has to agree with both of their calm reasoning. There's no way for her to disagree without yelling and screaming and getting angry, so she sits and she nods and she finishes her water, wiping the back of her arm across her lips to dry them.

"I want to leave, then," she tells them punctually, rising to her feet. "But we'll come back," she reassures her sister. "I just... I want to think. On my own. I need that."

Alessandra nods in understanding, rising as Federico does. Apollonia doesn't need either of them to open the door for her, yanking it open and hustling down the stairs, waiting at the mouth of the thin lane her sister and brother live on.

Federico takes his time back towards her, saying something quickly to her sister before joining her on the main streets, where the heat comes back to them. For the first half of the walk, they're quiet. Federico doesn't complain, zoning in on girls he obviously finds attractive, whistling when he can't deal with the silence anymore. Apollonia's arms are constantly crossed over her chest to the point where sweat stains the crooks of her elbows, soaked in from being bent for so long.

"Why are you keeping this profession secret from me?" Apollonia finally grunts, kicking at pebbles under her shoes. Federico doesn't answer her, giving a long stream of breath, his chest deflating gradually with the action instead of replying. She repeats herself. "Hey! Why are you - "

"We kill people," he tells her flatly, quietly, looking her dead in the eyes as he says it. "I don't. Not yet. But they do - them and my father and soon, me. We don't do it for the wrong reasons: we target people that are actually killing people for these certain things... for their own greed. We don't kill civilians like they do. But those people - the ones we kill - they're the ones that killed your parents. They're the reason your siblings do what they do. And that's the reason you have to stay with us."

Apollonia stops dead in her tracks. Federico is completely serious, dead serious, the look in his eyes flat and honest and completely expecting her to swallow this in one dose. It's unlike what he said before, that people can't just take it in one sitting. He's giving it to her in one sitting. But her mind seems to be taking it.

"Are you serious?" she breathes shakily, feeling herself sway, and he grabs her by the arms to steady her, beginning to drag her along as he starts the walk back again. "Is this... what?"

"We're Assassins. They're Templars. This is what we're supposed to do. Nobody questions it. They just respect it. It's in my blood and it's in yours. It's simple."

Apollonia's eyes are heavy. She's light-headed. She wasn't expecting this; not just what he's told her, what he so easily explained to her in the flattest voice she's ever heard. But the knocking and wobbling in her knees, the weakness in her body, the nausea building up in her throat. He's supporting most of her, the monotone in his voice gone as he asks her what's wrong.

But she can't keep her eyes open. And she blacks out dreaming of eagles and the men that came to kill her family.

* * *

**Federico doesn't beat around the bush man. **


	3. Author's Note Sorry

**OH HEY. Completely forgot. This is just an author's note because I realized I didn't really explain some stuff.**

**That whole America thing in the first chapter and these blonde people in Florence... this isn't in like 1476 or whatever. This is based sometime in the late 1700s. Idk why, I just wanted it to be in this era.  
**

**And these French and Austrian people and all that, it's cause when Napoleon came in there and he was like "I own this get out", obviously French people settled down there. But then Florence was annexed to Austrians and then they came and that's why there's a load of fair-haired people everywhere.  
**

**Just clearing that up so nobody thinks I'm spectacularly retarded  
**


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